Bree High
by LadyInglorion
Summary: Every autumn Aragorn reports to school located in Bree that just so happens to hold all of the other teenage characters. This year, exchange students from the Shire are spending the semester at Bree High, and Headmaster Denethor has announced a Tournament of Games between Bree and rival Mordor High. As to be expected, all hell breaks loose at the highly anticipated competition...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This story is just supposed to be fun and purely for enjoyment! Don't take it too seriously! Any input in regard to the plot or the personalities of the characters would be appreciated. I'm fairly open to suggestions, since I'm not even sure I'm taking this seriously! That aside, if you take the time to read please leave a review, even a one word review, because it really keeps authors going to know that there are people out there who are actually looking at their stuff. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1 – 8:20am, Wednesday, September 4****th****, first day of the new school year.**

_It is always a bittersweet feeling_, thought Aragorn as he slowed his horse to a trot, _when it is time to go back to school._ Sweet because after the long, arduously lonely days of summer, the young ranger could finally reunite with his best friends and enjoy companionship on a regular basis. But on the other hand was the prospect of homework and due dates, grumpy teachers and that awful Headmaster Denethor breathing down his back all the time. Each year was very much the same; friendships broke and reformed, people failed classes and aced others, drama ensued, and knowledge was learned. But unbeknownst to Aragorn, this school year was going to be quite different, including four new students and a dark piece of jewelry that was going to throw the already bizarre high school into chaos and set into motion the future of Middle Earth. Aragorn handed the reigns of his horse to a waiting stableperson named Eomer. He was King Theoden's student teacher, but lots of the pupils enrolled in Bree High School thought he was a better riding instructor than Theoden.

"Welcome back, Strider," said Eomer affectionately. Aragorn was about to reply but was interrupted as Eomer stood on tiptoe to kiss the horse's forehead. "I've missed you!" Aragorn closed his mouth and went on his way.

"Aragorn, Aragorn!" He turned at the sound of his name and a flurry of straight blonde hair. He broke into a grin.

"Legolas!" The two boys high-fived and then shook hands, laughing.

"It's not a party without me, I told you to slow down, you frinking elf!" came a coarse, winded voice. Aragorn's smile only grew.

"Hey, Gimli, what's up, man?" Aragorn and the ginger dwarf chest-bumped. Legolas rolled his eyes and adjusted his braids.

"How long have you two been back?" Aragorn asked as the trio began to meander across the school commons. Other students were arriving, bidding their families farewell and rushing gleefully to embrace their old friends. Aragorn waved to Rosie, a Hobbit from the Shire.

"Too long already," grumbled Gimli, scratching his short beard. "We dwarves prefer to learn from experience. All this schooling stuff doesn't sit well in my stomach."

"Oh, do stop complaining! You're only making yourself more miserable," chided Legolas. "Besides, I feel that there is scarce a thing in Middle Earth that wouldn't _sit well in your stomach, _midget."

"Midget!" Gimli huffed, eyebrows knitting together. "I'll show you _midget,_ you sing-songy fluffball!" Gimli sprang toward Legolas, chubby fingers very nearly seizing the elf's long blonde hair. Legolas gave a cry and danced away with Gimli in hot pursuit. Aragorn laughed the antics of his two best friends, eyes sparkling happily.

"Hello, Aragorn," said a shy voice. He turned and found Eowyn, a pretty golden haired sophomore from the kingdom of Rohan. It was no secret that she had a crush on him, but he had little interest in her. Strangely, she liked to dress in slacks and male clothing and filled up her schedule with miscellaneous combat courses despite her femininity. Everyone thought she was very, very weird. Still, she was very nice and Aragorn enjoyed her company.

"Hey, Eowyn," he greeted her, touching his chest respectfully. He allowed her to give him a hug.

"How are things in the outside world? I don't know anything save for what my uncle tells me," she asked as the two students began to walk toward the auditorium. The usual "Welcome Back!" introductory speech was going to be given soon by Headmaster Denethor, and though no one paid attention to the old geezer – except for his son, Boromir - they were all expected to attend.

"Lonely and boring," Aragorn shrugged. "There's not much to do during the summer. It's too hot for Orcs to be out and about, so I don't get much action." Eowyn's eyes widened in awe at the thought of Aragorn taking on a full battalion of Orcs. "But there are still quests to go on, things to do. I once rescued a Hobbit from being mauled by a vengeful Oak who didn't want to be disturbed."

"How?" gasped Eowyn.

"It wasn't easy," Aragorn grimaced. "Because whenever I went to chop the damn tree down it only squeezed the little chap tighter. So I ended up waiting until it fell asleep and then set it on fire."

"Wow…" Eowyn breathed, blinking, mystified. "You're a hero, Aragorn!" He shrugged.

"All in a day's work."

The tales were all rubbish; Aragorn had never really fought an Orc and the only confrontation he had ever had with a tree was tripping over roots. But Eowyn's priceless reactions made for excellent stories, and the little fibs did wonders for his reputation. Aside from Legolas and Gimli and a few of the keener students, people believed him and held him in lofty respect because of his wild accounts of bravery and danger.

"We got a few new students this year," Eowyn was saying. "They're all Hobbits." Eowyn had a knack of finding things out about the school, probably because her uncle was a teacher.

"Has old Mr. Baggins kicked the can yet?" Aragorn asked.

"Nope," Eowyn shook her blonde tresses. "And he doesn't look any different."

"Hmm," mumbled Aragorn, suddenly disinterested. "Hey, Eowyn, I'll catch you later," he said, walking away swiftly.

"Okay, bye!"

A group of elves were clustered together on the outskirts of the school compound, laughing and singing. Aragorn approached them slowly, keeping his distance. He was good friends with all of them, but sometimes he still felt uncomfortable being the only Human involved with their clique. Several yards away he stopped and nonchalantly leaned against a birch tree. Celeborn was there, which meant Galadriel was not far off, and all of Lord Elrond's sons, too. Haldir of Lothlorien was there and also… Arwen. Aragorn practically sighed as he caught sight of the beautiful she-elf and he felt his knees grow weak. Ever since he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd fallen hopelessly in love with her. She was the fairest female he had ever seen, her black hair like a raven's feather and her voice like the mighty river Anduin. And her eyes; her eyes Aragorn could gaze into for an eternity if only she let him. But she was dating Haldir, and they seemed happy together. Besides, Vice Headmaster Elrond was her dad, and Aragorn would be a liar if he said he wasn't scared shitless of the powerful elf King, who would never approve of his one and only beloved daughter being romantically involved with a mortal. Aragorn sighed and turned away with a bittersweet feeling both warming and stinging his heart. On one hand, he was morbidly depressed he'd never even have a chance with the gorgeous elven princess. But on the contrary, he felt a deep, passionate glow in his chest like no other, simply from seeing her face once again. Waving to a few friends commuting from Gondor – a group that included Boromir, the Headmaster's son – Aragorn jogged to the auditorium to find his companions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – 8:30am, Wednesday, September 4****th****, Bree High Auditorium **

"Welcome back to Bree High," croaked Headmaster Denethor, leaning over his podium at the head of the room. Standing there he looked very much like a crotchety old vulture, surveying the assembled student body with starving, unpleasant gray eyes. Some brave students used the phrase, "has something died? There are vultures about," to signal the headmaster was near without specifically speaking his name. "I'm sure you're all very excited to be back for the autumn semester. I know I am." Muttered dissention wafted up from all around Aragorn, mostly from Gimli. Headmaster Denethor continued to glower, fidgeting with his hands and his long purple and gold robes – the school's colors – and licking his lips. Everyone knew he was a terrible public speaker, but this year he seemed more nervous than most. Vaguely, Aragorn wondered what his problem was. His mind was completely consumed with thoughts of Arwen. If it was possible, she had grown even more beautiful since the end of last year, and Aragorn knew he was hopelessly besotted with her. She was seated several rows in front of him, surrounded by adoring elves, and Aragorn found it excruciatingly hard to concentrate on anything else with her so near. "This school year promises to be a good one for several reasons. First off, I'd like to welcome out new students. Please stand when I call you – Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck." Several dozen curious necks strained to see the newcomers, but it became quickly apparent that regardless of whether they stood or not, they would never be seen in the throng of students. They were Hobbits, and were decidedly taller sitting on the benches than standing on their feet. Headmaster Denethor muttered something to himself as low chattering broke out in the room and he waved them down, annoyed.

"For the benefit of our new freshmen and because I'm obligated to do so, I'll now introduce your teachers for this school year." The principal indicted a long oak table behind him where several adults were seated, talking idly amongst themselves. "Music classes will be taught by Mr. Bombadil and Lady Goldberry –" Before the headmaster could continue, a small man dressed in royal blue uniform trimmed with gold and a wide brimmed hat decorated with a feather leapt to his feet and spread his arms wide, bursting into song –

"_Hey dol, merry dol, ring a dong dillo! Ring a dong, hop along, fal lal the willow! Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!"_

He immediately returned to his seat, chuckling and eying the students with bright, cheerful eyes. Laughter was circulating throughout the assembled. Tom's explosions of singing were not uncommon, especially when Headmaster Denethor was boring everyone around him to tears. There was much debate as to whether these musical outbursts were designed to infuriate Headmaster Denethor or they simply were for Tom's pleasure.

"Thank you, Master Bombadil," Headmaster Denethor grunted, shooting the music director down with his eyes. "In charge of combat and horsemanship is King Theoden – " the noble man rose at his name and bowed deeply, face grave. " – and his assistant instructor, Eomer." Eomer too rose to his feet and bowed. Both lords took their seats at the same time. "Our resident history teacher, Gil-Galad…" The great elf king rose to his feet, long brown hair swooshing. A loud cheer rose from the elf clique that was quickly admonished with a look from Headmaster Denethor. Gil-Galad bowed his head elegantly and regained his seat. "As usual, all language arts classes will be taught by Mr. Baggins."

"He must be four-hundred years old!" whispered Legolas as Mr. Baggins stood up on his chair beside Gil-Galad and bowed deeply to healthy applause. Everyone liked Bilbo very much because he was very easy to distract in the classroom and liable to tell great stories. Aragorn cast Legolas a withering look.

"I think four-hundred is a little high, don't you think?"

Legolas shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

"In charge of the science department," continued Headmaster Denethor, "is Treebeard." Everyone looked up at the window above Denethor's head to where a large Ent was peering inside. Many waved and shouted gleefully. Everyone loved Treebeard. "And last but not least, your headmasters are myself, the honorable Lord Denethor, and Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Of course, Lord Elrond will handle all mathematic classes." There was applause because it was expected. As Elrond stood, his biting eyes swept over the assembly and fixed threateningly on Aragorn; the teenager immediately looked down, cheeks flushing.

"Now that that's taken care of, allow me to introduce this semester's prefects – Boromir and Celeborn, please stand."

"Of course it's _them_," Gimli growled in Aragorn's ear over the polite applause. "Denethor won't consider anyone else while _they're _here, let alone a dwarf!"

"Since when was being a prefect important to you?" Aragorn asked, amused. The position of prefect was a laughable title at Bree High, and usually the prefects were subject to relentless torture as long as they wore the gold badge indicating their status. Aragorn guessed, though, that no one would dare continue that tradition what with the Headmaster's son and the heartthrob elf prince in charge.

"It's not," Gimli flushed. "I was only being truthful…"

"Hush!" Legolas chimed in, twirling the tips of his hair around his fingers. "Denethor is saying something interesting and important!"

"Gil-Galad better write this down in his textbook!" Gimli muttered and Aragorn chuckled.

" – Many of you are familiar with our cross-land rivals, Mordor High." There were scattered grumbles of loathing and a few people boo-ed. Denethor glared and the crowd fell silent. "Many years ago, there was a legendary event known as the Great Tournament, held every four years as an entity distinct from the usual athletic and academic competitions between the schools. Once upon a time, when all of the races had their own academies, the Tournament was a festival of extreme prestige. Only the fittest competed, but all would attend. It was a time of merrymaking and fun, and above all else it was a symbol of peace and friendly competition. The tradition died out because the roads were getting dangerous and what little trust existed between the races dissipated, and now there are only two schools. But I have been in conference with the Headmaster of Mordor High, and we are pleased to announce, for the first time in a hundred years, the reinstatement of the Great Tournament."


	3. Chapter 3

The students could contain themselves no longer and broke into ecstatic mutterings. Some seemed thrilled; others looked perturbed slightly. But all were immediately enamored with the idea. Nothing of this magnitude had ever happened at Bree High before, where the highlight of the semester was the annual rugby match between the two schools in which the strapping Uruk-hai boys of Mordor always hopelessly destroyed Bree's team.

"What kind of games'll there be?" shouted a girl from Gondor.

"All sorts," Headmaster Denethor replied. "Horsemanship, throwing, running, archery…" at this Legolas sat up taller, beaming, "But there will also be writing, tests of smarts and the like."

By now the student body was abuzz with excitement. Even Boromir, who usually scoffed at the notion of showing emotins, was grinning and talking adamantly about the arm wrestling competitions he was going to win.

"I shall enter the archery games!" Legolas exclaimed, pulling on an imaginary bow.

"And I the axe throwing competition!" Gimli chimed in. "Aragorn should go out for swordsmanship!"

"Do you think so?" Aragorn asked, leaning forward in his seat, rubbing his chin.

"Sure," Legolas agreed, nodding. "You're the best guy here when it comes to handling a sword, even better than Haldir." Legolas winked.

"That's hardly a feat, though…" Aragorn muttered to himself, jealously piquing at his heart. He could see the handsome blonde elf sitting not far off with his fingers laced through Arwen's luscious raven-colored hair, talking smoothly in that cool manner he had, and she was laughing, laughing so that her eyes sparkled and wrinkled at the corners. He wished he could make her laugh that way, and that he could stroke that beautiful black hair like Haldir did-

"Aragorn! Come back, laddie! You're off in Kingdom-Impossible again."

Aragorn shook his head embarrassed, sighing. He frowned at Gimli and Legolas gave him a sympathetic smile.

"There is one condition though – hullo, listen here! Students!" Headmaster Denthor shouted over the din, but he was not much heard save for the first several rows. Suddenly, Treebeard's deep, rolling Ent-ish voice echoed across the room –

"QUUUIIIEEETTTT!"

The students immediately fell into a hush and returned to their seats, admonished. Headmaster Denethor continued to glare.

"Now, as I was saying. There is one condition, and that is that one school must play the part of the host. This year, that school will be us." Uneasy silence followed this remark. "And that means, for the majority of the school year, we will harbor the attendees of Mordor High and their administrative staff."

Now the assembly broke out into horrified ramblings. The students of Mordor were mostly Orcs and Goblins intermingled with a few Uruk-hai and Men. They were known for their violent dispositions and heinous ways, not to mention ravenous appetites and foul smell. And then there were the Nine. Aragorn shuddered at the thought of them and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't have any desire to share his school, his safe haven, with them, or any of those scoundrels from Mordor High. Suddenly, the Tournament seemed far less inviting than before.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Headmaster Denethor bellowed. "I will not have this meeting become a free-for-all! Now, hosting the Games is an immense honor, and I will not have you shaming the name of Bree High by treating _guests_ disrespectfully! Though they are monsters, they will not be treated as such! I'll have you know that this Tournament is meant to encourage peaceful relations! It is suggested that you attempt to make friends."

"Well I won't do it! You cannot make me be friends with an Orc!" shrieked a female elf, tossing her long red hair, disgusted. A posse of drooling boys around her shook their heads in agreement.

"Me either! I shan't share a room with one!" shouted a dwarf indignantly. This comment roused the rest of the students into vigorous protest. Many got to their feet and began inveighing against the idea of sharing Bree High with those from Mordor.

"Next they'll have us _breeding_ with those monsters!" cried the red-haired elf. She seemed to be leading the charge as far as protesting the Tournament went. Aragorn sat quietly with Legolas and Gimli. He shook his head at his friends, amused.

"There shall be no _breeding_ of any sort! Sit down!" Headmaster Denethor struggled to maintain control. "No one will be forced to share a dormitory with those from Mordor!"

Suddenly, loud and clear, the voice of Tom Bombadil broke out amongst the clamor -

"_Now let the song begin! Let us sing together! Of sun, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather! Light on budding leaf, dew on the feather. Wind on the hill, bells on the heather, reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water: Old Bree High and the folks of Mordor!"_

Quiet had fallen at last and, content, Tom collapsed into his seat, smiling gaily.

"There," Headmaster Denethor grumbled. "There you have it, from your elder himself. Listen well to him and learn from his wise song. No one will be forced to engage in the Games, but you will be held to the high standards of Bree High while our guests are present. Is that understood?" There was mumbled consent. "Good. Now, we do have some time before the Mordor students arrive. In the meantime, classes will progress as they always have. You are expected to be on time and fully prepared. I have your roommate assignments here, and your schedules. Please report to your homeroom teacher to get them. The meeting is now adjourned. Welcome back to Bree High!"

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"_One_ combat class! _One!" _fumed Gimli, balling up his schedule into a tight wad angrily. "And I got two history classes in a row! It's some sort of discrimination, I tell you!" The three boys were making their way to the dormitories, Aragorn and Gimli wearing leather satchels with their belongings and Legolas skipping ahead. The elf prince's personal entourage followed behind dragging his mountain of suitcases and bags.

"Maybe it is a mistake?" Legolas asked, running over his own schedule in his head. He had been placed in all of the classes he wanted, and was perfectly happy about it. "Which combat did you get?"

"Hatchet Skills," Gimli grunted.

"Gimli, that's a two hour class," Aragorn pointed out. "Gil-Galad's courses are no longer than forty-five minutes each."

"Hmph."

"What about you, Aragorn? What did you get?" Legolas questioned.

"Language Arts, Swordsmanship V, Archery II, Math, Horsemanship, Natural Sciences," Aragorn replied curtly.

"Look, we're all roommates!" Legolas interrupted, pointing to the dormitory guide hanging on the wall. "How excellent!"

"We've been roommates since freshman year," Gimli reminded him, exhausted of the elf's enthusiasm already.

"Don't remind me," Aragorn joked. He scanned the list quickly.

_1B – Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas_

_2B – Boromir, Faramir, Theodred_

_3B – Celeborn, Haldir_

_4B – Meriadoc, Peregrin_

_5B – Frodo, Samwise_

_6B – Saruman, Grima_

_7B – Gandalf, Radagast_

_8B – Blue 1, Blue 2_

_9B – Sauron, Smeagol_

_1G – Rosie, Eowyn _

_2G – Arwen, Galadriel_

There were many other names, but none that Aragorn particularly cared about. He glanced around, hoping to see Arwen, but Gimli and Legolas pulled him away toward the dorm stairwell so that they could begin to set up their room.


End file.
